


Tidal Waves

by ayearonsaturn



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Family, Gen, Other, Pines Family Fluff, dont worry i'll make up for it i promise, hhhhhhhhhhh this chapter burnt the heck outta me, just give it another chapter or two...then the kids will finally come, so much stangst......, that's all i gotta say right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayearonsaturn/pseuds/ayearonsaturn
Summary: Two pairs of twins, a tiny trawler boat, sea creatures, and unpredictable waters. Could anything really go wrong?





	1. Ford's Formulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford has big plans, and tries his best to hide them Stan, who's suffering because he misses Dipper and Mabel so much. Little does he know, Ford's plan may have something to do with them.

Stan wasn't what one would call an early riser.

But as the ocean's waters shifted, _contorted_ , and the gulls chanted their dismay toward the furious breeze, he groaned helplessly.

Unfortunately for Stan, Ford had developed a habit of awakening at ungodly hours for the past week, dragging the whole world with him in the process, and this fine morning had been no different.

It's was an added insult to injury. Salt in the wound. Stan jolted out of bed as the other end of the mattress dipped, releasing a disturbing _squeeekk_ , followed by the sound of Ford's heavy footsteps, and eventually, some clanks and clatters several feet away.

"Do you mind?" Stan mumbled, "Some people are are trying to sleep here."

"Sorry, I'm trying t-"

"Scare the dolphins away!?"

"I didn't mean to wake you up, I just like to get up early and get stuff going." Ford exclaimed.

"Obviously. I don't know how you function without sleep. It's too early for t

Stan burrowed himself in the comforter and attempted to block out any disturbances with his pillow. It was too light-weight to mask the clattering.

"Are you gonna research the effects of insomnia?" Stan moaned.

"No," Ford replied, " I'm actually trying to see how much more food and other essentials we can stock here."

"You think we're running out?"

"Not yet, but we will with two more people staying wi-" Ford paused rapidly, "..it's not important. I was just curious. We may need a little extra just to be safe."

An awkward silence ensued between them.

Stan started to wonder if Ford's lack of sleep had taken a serious toll.

"Come back to bed and relax poindexter, you're delirious."

"I am not," Ford grumbled, " you just go back to bed while I uh- _research_. Anyway, we should be heading toward Panama. We'll stop there to get a few things."

He disappeared to the deck, leaving Stan a tad bewildered, but none the less, exhausted.

*****************************************************

"You're saying we can sail with you guys?" Dipper asked.

"For three _whole_ months!?" Mabel cheered.

The teens sounded absolutely dumbfounded, and Ford felt jittery and warm inside just talking to the twins about his plan.

"Yes, as long as your parents agree," He responded quietly, worried the twins' voices may have been caught by Stan, and muffled one end of the payphone with his palm," if they allow it, you two will be able to see Stan and I this summer."

Just in time, Stan's incessant footsteps drew near.

"Remember, this is a surprise for Stan. He doesn't know about my plan. I'm sure your parents won't mind, but until we know for sure, don't say a word to him." Ford whispered.

"We won't, we promise!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Alright, I'll put Stan on."

Stan took the payphone from Ford's grasp and looked a bit bewildered, but smiled delicately when Ford urged him with a grin to speak on the phone.

"Is this Soos? I hope he didn't set the Shack on fire again."

"It's the kids, I called them."

"Oh," Stan stammered, nearly choking, "h-hey kiddos, it's me. How are you two goobers doin'?"

"Grunkle Stan! We heard you guys were in Panama City. Is it pretty?" Mabel responded.

"Eh, it's mostly just a port area, but it's okay. The people are pretty nice, though Ford is a bit rusty on his spanish."

"Grunkle Stan, how long are you guys staying there?" Dipper butted into the conversation.

"Only for a few hours. Ford is turning into a doomsday prepper. He stopped to get us extra food. I mean, it's the ocean we're sailing on, we could survive on fish and crabs, but _no_ , he's all paranoid I guess."

Stan could hear the twins giggle on the end of the line, though he didn't think too much of it.

"Anyway, are you kids doing well?"

"Yeah! Waddles one a pig contest at the county fair, and Dipper got straight A's throughout the eighth grade, so he gets to go to honors classes this next year." Mabel said.

There was a unique pride in her voice that sent a rush of warmth through Stan's veins.

"And our parents are doing well. They always say how great of a job you did getting us to be more outgoing."

The old man felt as if he was going to collapse from sheer happiness right on the spot, but Ford placed a hand on his shoulder and soothed him with an encouraging nod.

"That's uh-that's great! You kids sound like you're doing great. Mr. Genius and I gotta get goin', so you guys take care alright?"

The teens said their goodbyes and Stan hung up gently, his shoulders hunched, his sense of pride intense. It was one of the best feelings in the universe, his **_favorite_** , but as he turned to face his brother, something else brewed within his heart. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but it was not pleasant.

**********************************************

"Stan, you need to eat." Ford insisted.

His face boasted impatience, but it was in the form of concern, rather than annoyance, and he pushed the plate of rice closer to his brother in hopes he would eat it.

"I will, I'm just..thinking." Stan sighed, and pushed it away.

A seagull cawed deviously overhead. It circled over his plate and swooped down, attempting to steal the smallest morsel. Stan wanted to gladly offer it the entire dish.

"I guess the birds and I are eating alone tonight. What's bothering you?" Ford said.

"When―it's stupid, don't worry."

"Ignoring a problem never helped anyone."

The old men shot each other a sharp glance. Stan caved in and groaned heavily, too tired to argue.

"When I talked to the kids earlier, I just felt so happy to hear them and hear how excited they were about things. It felt nice, but I guess―," He paused, and sighed deeply, "I guess I just really miss them."

Ford sees the hurt on his brother's face and longs to tell him that the twins are coming. He wants to get into a spiel about the adventures they'll all have, but he can't. Instead, he grabs Stan in a warm embrace and tries to reassure him.

"You will see them again, I promise." Ford insisted.

"But when will that happen?"

"…Soon." Ford was careful not to let more than hint drop. He patted Stan's shoulder, "Come on, let's go inside. It's too warm out on deck anyway."

They headed inside the Stan O' War to wind down and catch some rest, but Stan felt he wouldn't be getting much for a while. But his brother was smiling at him, and that was enough to make Stan gain some confidence and think more positively.  
********************************************************************

A/N: I yearn for some pines family fluff! This story is something I've been planning for some time now, so I hope you all enjoy! xx (quick edit, 8/8/18: i posted this story some time ago but updated this chapter a bit-also, part two is finally up! Yay!!)


	2. Bishops and Rooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan let's too much pride get into his head and he falls, hits his head, and has a memory lapse. Ford nurses him back to partial lucidity, but can only do so much. He also has some more planning to do..

Ford had never been a master at chess.

The pieces were intricately designed, each one serving a specific purpose, a differing level of difficulty. He _hated_ the game, absolutely _loathed_ it, and was ashamed to say so around others in fear of appearing foolish. Except for Stan, who understood his brother's affliction for the pastime, nobody else was aware of just how deeply Ford despised chess.

"C'mon poindexter, don't leave me hangin'," Stan exclaimed, "You're letting me win, aren't ya?"

Ford glanced at his twin in slight annoyance. He expected to find Stan with a massive smirk on his face, but instead, saw that Stan's brow was furrowed and he appeared to be in deep concentration. His face looked pasty, which worried Ford. Stan constantly overworked himself.

_Oh, stop overthinking things. Concentrate._

Determined to understand what he should do in order to beat his brother, Ford took his king piece and attempted to score a checkmate, but found the move to be invalid.

"I really don't know why you insisted on playing this, Stanley. We could've done anything else in the world― fishing, reading, talking―but you wanted to play chess?"

"Hey, I had to beat ya at something for once." Stan scoffed.

"Since when do _you_ like chess?" Ford retorted.

"Since recently. When you went on one of your star watching quests, I played a few games with the local merpeople just last week."

"Oh, _really_?"

Stan didn't have another witty response. Instead, he made a move and a twinkle appeared in his eyes. He jumped out of his seat in excitement.

"In your face, Ford!"

Stan had done it. He'd _actually_ done it. He won. Ford sat still, dumbfounded, but only shocked temporarily at the fact that he couldn't beat his brother at something he hated. He'd only agreed to play just to make Stan happy, anyway.

There was no use making a scene about it. Ford gathered the chess pieces―spilled by Stan in the middle of his victorious spiel―and placed them back on the table.

"How d'ya like that, Ford? I actually won! I can't believe ya let me off so easily. Really, you did that on purpose, right?"

Stan was overexerted and appeared to be losing his breath. His face was red with triumph, his fists against his sides as he took in some air. Ford didn't think much of it. Stan was Stan, and his personality was quite vibrant.

The old scientist finally sighed, "No, Stanley, I didn't. Even _I_ can't accomplish _everything_. Take it easy before y-"

Stan was already beginning to sway a little, which made Ford's gut swirl and his mind careen. Once he realized it wasn't a simple, clumsy error, but a rather sharp tumble, he nearly knocked over the table trying to catch his brother, who had already fell to the ground head-first in the middle of his relentless gloating.

"Stanley, are you alright!?"

"I'm fine, poindexter, why―"

Stan's head plopped down and his eyes went vacuous. Ford held his brother, who'd started to faintly convulse in his grasp―something that hadn't quite happened before―and nearly fell ill at the sight.

"Hang on, breathe...I'll carry you inside. God, Stan, please don't leave me."

Ford staggered inside of the Stan O' War's cabin, kicking the door open as he clambered in, a limp Stan in his arms. He'd always had a heavier build, but after years of interdimensional travels, Ford could lift many things without a problem, and hardly felt his brother's weight as he set him on the ground. Perhaps it also had to do with the adrenaline rush―he wasn't certain.

Checking Stan's pulse, Ford felt his gut knot all over again. It was racing at the pace of a snail. He knelt beside his twin and pressed an ear against Stan's chest to find a better heartbeat. It was light, weak, vulnerable; hardly useful, really.

Ford wasn't really sure what to do next. CPR, perhaps? He knew he had to get Stan cooled off and in a recovery-position immediately, and removed his trenchcoat and his undershirt first.

However, Stan's chest was rising, falling, and rising again. His breaths were feeble, but they were there. Ford placed a hand over his brother's heart, and felt the heart rate gaining more energy.

Stan was as pale as a sheet. His color gradually came back as he inhaled more oxygen, though he remained unconscious. Ford turned Stan on his side and positioned his knees so that they supported Stan's body and prevented him from rolling onto his stomach.

"Stanley? I'm here. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me," It was a delicate and effortless squeeze, but it was there, and Ford choked back tears as his brother returned to him.

At least, that's what he assumed was happening.

*************************************************

Something frozen, something damp, something relieving, to say the least, was covering his eyes and his forehead.

 _Where am I?_ Stan thought, and after removing, unbeknownst to him, a semi-frozen rag from his face, a second thought came to him. _Who am I?_

Wherever he was, it was dark. He sat upwards and felt his heart pounding in his throat. The only noises he could pick up were the hum of a nearby deskfan, and what sounded like waves outside. And then, the clattering of cups, silverware―maybe even a plate or two―and the soft _**brrrrr**_ of something boiling on a stove, perhaps only a room or two away.

His head started to throb in pain, and he returned the soothing rag to his forehead and lay back down. Just then, Stan made out some firm footsteps, and could sense them heading in his direction. He whirled around. In the doorway, a sliver of light passed through and he barely had the ability to make out a silhouette standing in the middle of it. The light started to grow stronger, stinging Stan's eyes as he turned away in fright.

The silhouette entered, now with a face and discernible clothing, hair, and the like. It was a man. He had a concerned expression set upon his face, a deep frown in his brow.

Then, the man spoke.

"Stan? Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Stan wanted to go to bed. He didn't know what this person wanted, and frankly, he felt too sick, too weak, to really care. He felt the man had _something_ to do with what was going on, but became reluctant to ask.

"..Who's 'Stan'? Who are you?"

The man looked even more upset than before, panicked. He walked away swiftly before returning with a pink book. Stan simply couldn't comprehend what was going on, and groaned in agony as this mysterious person showed him some pictures inside of the book.

A young girl and boy appeared in most of the photographs. They looked like twins. Another girl, much older and with red hair, was also in most of them. And some guy with a question mark shirt and gopher teeth. Finally, some older, grumpy man who wore a dusty fez and a wrinkled, yet somehow, still presentable (at least Stan thought so) double-breasted suit

"Who..who are these people?" He exclaimed.

"They're your family. That younger girl is your great niece, Mabel. The boy in the pine tree hat is her brother, your great nephew, Dipper. Wendy is the redhead, and Soos..." The man paused for a moment, clearing his throat, "he's basically a son to you, but he was also one of your employees-"

"Who's the old guy?"

"That's...you, Stan."

Stan was awfully confused and couldn't formulate a response. He scratched his head, trying to understand, but his mind was empty. He felt sick and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and talk another time.

"I'm telling you, Stanley, that's you." The man nearly whimpered his reply.

Stan cocked his head and examined one of the photos more closely, "Now that I think about it, he looks a lot like you? Except he's kinda fat."

"That's you. I'm your twin brother. My name is Stanford, but I go by Ford-"

"Ford," Stan thought for a moment, but his brain remained a blank slate, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I know these people. I don't even remember _you_."

Ford looked utterly defeated. He slowly walked out of the room and shut the light off, leaving Stan to assume he wasn't going to come back, so he returned to the bliss of sleep.

However, he was awoken momentarily when the insulting blare of the light filled his vision once more, and the mattress squeaked as Ford sat beside him with an even larger scrapbook in hand.

"I want you to read this off and on. I know you're tired, and I'll leave you alone for a while, but please look through it when you're feeling up to it."

"Am I sick?" Stan murmured.

"No, not exactly. You hit your head rather hard on the floor earlier, and it knocked you out. It took your memory with it, but if you do as I say, you'll be good as new in no time." Ford insisted.

"If you're my brother, then when's my birthday?"

"...That would be June 15th, just like mine. Now rest your head and look through the scrapbook. It has more pictures, poems, and details about you and your life that Mabel put to together to help you remember things."

Stan, still unconvinced, grumbled and put the book on the night table beside the bed. Ford looked agitated; his face was extremely discolored and for a moment, it looked as if he would be sick. He swallowed thickly, and raked a hand through his hair before turning away, seemingly in defeat. He let out a long sigh and held his head.

"Are you okay?"

Ford turned back, just as Stan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm alright. I'm worried about you, that's all."

"Well, don't be...if you say it'll get better, then I guess it will. I wish I could remember you sooner." Stan exclaimed.

Ford's frown shifted into a light smile and he turned to hug his brother. The embrace was rather calming, but the thought of letting go made it impossible to fully appreciate the gesture. Not to mention the fact that Stan felt rather tense and reluctant to return the favor, though he did so without much of a fuss, and tried to make it sincere.

******************************

It was the dead of night before Ford had allowed Stan to resume sleep. His head injury wasn't massive, but he'd acquired a big enough bruise that Ford had insisted they watch for signs of a concussion. When everything seemed to be healing just fine (save for Stan's memory), he fell into a deep sleep and couldn't be bothered any longer.

Ford left him to rest, and went into the kitchenette to find something to eat while he worked. The Stan O' War was nearing the west coast, somewhere near the Gulf of Mexico, and they were inching closer to California. He knew he needed to stop fretting over Stan, who was clearly just having a memory lapse and would surely be fine, and focus on how he was going to pick up Dipper and Mabel, sneak them in while Stan was unaware, and surprise him when the time came.

"Three more days sounds about right," The scientist crunched into an apple, shut the cupboard, and found a stack of his writings, talking to himself thoroughly as he spread them out on the table, "we should be around northern California by then, and I'll have to leave Stan behind while I pick the kids up."

Hastily, he scribbled the plans onto the scraps, also adding:

**Need new journal. Writing on scrap paper isn't my style.**

Afterwards, Ford folded the papers and placed them in a small crack in the floorboards, so that Stan wouldn't stumble upon them or snoop around out of boredom.

He suddenly felt _very_ tired, and decided he'd hit the hay himself once he finished his snack. When the apple became nothing more than a measly core, he threw it away and climbed into bed, where Stan was buried in blankets and snoring away.

Ford started falling asleep himself as he thought about Stan's wellbeing, the kid's faces when they saw their Grunkles for the first time in over a year, the way he was so _close_ to seeing Stan implode with excitement.

It was a bittersweet combination, and his stomach started to sour in perplexity, as he closed his eyes and everything went quiet.  
********************************************

A/N: It's been so long since I've posted this story (over a year...whoops. i kind of, just now, updated the tense the first chapter was written in originally so it may say it was published today instead? idk but if it does thats not true!) and I can't believe I've finally gotten the second chapter done. I feel bad for taking so long but hopefully it was worth it :T? Lots of things have happened and as a result my writer's block took over. I'll be sure to update this more frequently from now on.


	3. Meraculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's mind is one of the most perplexing things to decipher..

"Dipper."

It was just past midnight in Piedmont. The weeks after school ended were supposed to be met with sleep, leisure, _peace_. But for days on end, Mabel had grown undoubtedly restless and couldn't find it in herself to relax. The butterflies in her stomach were multiplying by the day. At this point, they were rippling in her throat, and she felt she might lose her dinner if she didn't do _something_ to quell the excitement.

"Dipper, wake up," Mabel took one of the stuffed animals from her bed, and chucked it at her brother's head. A grate emerged from his throat.

"Mabel, it's too early for this..we had a pillow fight _last_ night."

"It's only midnight. Listen bro, Grunkle Ford called us a _week_ ago! We need to make sure he and Grunkle Stan are okay."

"He'll call us again, give it a few more days." Dipper insisted, and shuffled deeper into his covers.

"The longer we wait, the less summer we'll have with them! Besides, what if one of them got hurt? I say we write them a letter," The teen paused for a moment, and a sparkle emerged in her eyes, "a message in a bottle!"

Dipper lifted his head in surprise, just in time to see the mischievous look in his sister's eyes. He shot her an uncertain glance.

"How will we know if the bottle even travels in the right direction? Mabel, I know you miss them, I do too, but we're going to have to wait this out. Maybe there's a storm, or-"

"Mermando, ya dingus!"

"Mer.. _mando_?" Dipper croaked.

"The mermaid guy you made out with? My almost boyfriend?"

"I know who he is, stupid," Dipper exclaimed with a light chuckle, and turned crimson at the memory, "but how would we locate him?"

"Echolocation. He gave me a special whistle while we were in Gravity Falls last summer!"

"How come I never noticed that..?"

Mabel shrugged. She had a roguish expression, a twisted smirk, and it made Dipper uneasy, "A girl doesn't share her secrets, except when she needs her Grunkles!"

The twins clambered out of bed and went to their shared desk. Mabel swiped a pile of papers out of the way and opened the drawer, were a multitude of sketchbooks were neatly placed. She took her latest favorite one (it had a purple dolphin on the cover), and dug around for a pen, much to her dismay, finding several chewed up ones.

"You are such a _slob_ , Dipper! Yuck.."

"Don't you have a **hundred** pens under your bed?"

"Ugh, I guess," Mabel crawled across the floor and scooted under it. Glitter, confettiñ, and piles of stickers spewed out.

"Talk about being a slob," Dipper remarked. Mabel playfully punched him in the arm, and took a ridiculously shiny pen back to the desk, where she sat down with the notebook and searched for a blank page.

"What should we say?"

"Let's just tell them that mom and dad said we could go. Don't mention how much taller you still are than I am, and―oh, make sure to tell them we'll be waiting, and to pick us up at Stinson beach whenever they're ready. That's one of the closest ones to us."

"Gotcha. Oh yeah, we need a bottle!" Mabel exclaimed.

Dipper retrieved an empty one from the kitchen, while she perfected the letter with touches of glitter and perhaps too many cat stickers. All it needed now, was to make it to the right destination. When Dipper came back, they neatly rolled the letter and placed it inside. Mabel, as crafty as she was, had a cork on hand to seal it. Now, all they needed was Mermando.

"Mom and Dad will kill us if we sneak out all the way to the beach...there's a pond nearby, I wonder if Mermando can access it?" Mabel wondered, and felt for a moment that this plan was stupid, child's play, but then, another glimmer of hope came to mind, "well, he _did_ say that the echolocation would attract any Mermaid, so I guess it doesn't matter. Whoever comes, we'll just tell them to give the bottle to Mermando, and make sure they can tell him who to give it to."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's sneak out of the window, and get this over with so we can come back before mom or dad wake up." Dipper was still uncertain, but he knew that Mabel wouldn't be satisfied until they did something. To tell the truth, he didnt think he'd relax until they did this either. The twins cautiously climbed through and made their journey outside.

At dawn, just as the sun and the sky converged, and the seagulls sang off-key as they searched for their breakfast, Ford was roused from his sleep. He groggily shifted out of bed, careful not to wake Stan, who remained as still as a rock―and for a moment, Ford felt it unusual that he was so inanimate, even in a deep slumber, and checked his pulse, which was warm and present―and sighed in relief before going to the stove and starting the kettle for tea.

The night before had been so stressful, so _jarring_ ; seeing Stan incoherent had been nothing new, but each time an episode occurred―Ford felt his heart break more painfully than it had the last time. At this rate, he was almost sure he would have a heart attack, and then what would Stan do? Roam around alone if something were to happen and he suddenly couldn't remember anything? Ford shivered at the thought, reasoning that he was in perfect health and if he could simply lower his stresses, the chances of anything like that happening were minimal.

Not to mention, Stan wasn't a _child_. He was still sharp in the head and very bright, even when he couldn't comprehend his surroundings. If something were to go wrong, Stan could easily understand that he needed to find help, as long as he'd be willing to lend a hand to a 'stranger'. Again, Ford felt cold and unsure, his body growing gelid from the morning chill and the fear, but he was _determined_ to get his mind in a better place.

The old scientist jumped as the tea started to boil over, whistling impatiently as it did so, and he removed it swiftly before it could startle his brother awake. Ford wasn't sure if Stan had returned to a fully lucid state yet, but if he hadn't, becoming more confused and unsure of his surroundings would only make his recovery worse. He also needed as much rest as he could get, and Ford did not want to interrupt it.

"Oh, where did I put those tea bags?"

He accidentally clanged some mugs together as he dug in the cupboard, wincing, waiting for a _'What was that!?'_ or a _'Where am I?'_ , but the Stan O' War remained hushed and undisturbed. Ford warily spotted a rouge teabag, and snatched it from the very back of a shelf. He also grabbed one of the mugs, one that had an owl printed on the front, and poured the stifling water inside, bobbing the pouch of tea into it. He watched the water as it settled into an amber hue, and took a much needed sip.

His windbreaker was somewhere, though in last night's frenzy, he'd seemed to have misplaced it. _My sweater will have to do._ Wearily, the old man crept outside, carefully shutting the door once he was on deck, and leaned against the Stan O' War's railing, watching the gulls. The clouds were a pastel yellow as morning crept further, the crisp air stinging his face, the salty sea gently sloshing beneath.

Ford wasn't sure why he felt so...out of place. Sure, Stan had given him a scare, but it, once again, was nothing _new_. Perhaps it was due to the fact that one of these episodes hadn't happened in such a long time, and Ford had forgotten (perhaps, Erased?) the intensity of the situation when one of these things had happened. Or was Stan really hurt? There had been no symptoms of a concussion, aside from memory loss, and no other ailments throughout the night. Clearly, he'd just bumped his head too hard..but a knot formed in Ford's stomach and he suddenly felt ill.

Too many thoughts were going through his mind.

The water was starting to get a little choppy, the air was growing humid, and the savory air was too much for Ford to handle. He suddenly found himself leaning farther down the railing, losing the tea as his stomach churned and his head spun. When he caught his breath, he felt horrendously disoriented and had to lay against the floor. His throat burned and his forehead was soaked in sweat.

"¡Estás enfermo!"

"What?" Ford moaned.

"I said, you're sick!"

"Who's there...?"

" Hola, soy Mermando. I was sent here by Mabel Pines. Are you her uncle?"

Ford was certain now that he was losing his mind. The stress was consuming him. He thought he was going to be sick again, but the voice distracted him.

"No shame, sailors get seasick all the time. Humans can't always handle these rough waters like we Mermaids."

"I don't think I'm _seasick_ , I think I'm going insane..."

The old man groggily sat against the helm and rubbed his eyes as his head throbbed. When his vision adjusted, he looked down into the water and saw that there was indeed a Mer...person, (Merboy? Ford wasn't sure) wading, with a bottle in his grasp, grinning with a large gap in his teeth.

"I know your niece and nephew. They once saved my life, and I owe it to them to give you this."

Ford reached down and retrieved the message. He suddenly didn't feel as sick.

"Thank you..I appreciate it, really. I'm afraid I don't speak Spanish too well, though."

"Está bien, señor." Mermando shot him a smug grin, much larger than it had been before, and started to swim away.

"Wait, aren't you expecting something in return? Food? Seashells?" Ford called out.

"Nah, I'm watching my figure! See you later, viejo!"

Mermando sped away, leaving Ford to ponder the conversation in astonishment. He assumed the letter was of great importance. The kids had never sent a message in a bottle before.

**Dear Grunkle Ford and Stan,**

**Is everything okay? We haven't heard from you in a while.**

**Good news! Our mom and dad said we can sail with you guys!**

**Oh yeah, I forgot, this is a surprise for Grunkle Stan, right?**

**Maybe he shouldn't see this then...oh yeah! Whenever you're**

**ready to pick us up, we'll meet you at Stinson Beach! That's**

**pretty close to Piedmont. We love you guys, hope you're safe!**

**Please try to get back to us. -Mabel (and Dipper)**

Ford had spent several moments rereading that letter, happy to hear from his great niece and nephew, and satisfied with the idea that they had gained permission to come along. That was one thing off of his shoulders, anyway. He no longer felt so terrible, the thought of seeing Dipper and Mabel a pleasant one, but the thought of Stan feeling better and being surprised with them, was even better.

Of course, Stan would have to gain his memory back first. They were already on the western coast of Mexico, nearing California. It couldn't be more than two days before they arrived near Piedmont. _I have to help Stan. He needs me._

Ford warily got himself to his feet, still lightheaded from being sick earlier, but feeling much less terrible, at least physically. The only thing to do was take one thing at a time, and deal with things as they came along.

When he made his way back inside, Ford removed his sweater to cool off, and sipped idly at some water that had been left on the counter. He went to check on Stan, who was surprisingly awake, rummaging through the nightstand.

"Stan, are you alright?"

Stan jumped, turning to see who was speaking. It was that Ford guy from the night before. _Supposedly, my brother,_ Stan thought. He still couldn't remember much about him.

"I was lookin' for that uh...that scrapbook. I guess I fell asleep and forgot about it last night."

"I'll help you look for it," Ford exclaimed.

The brothers looked everywhere, nearly tore the place apart, until Stan suggested that they check underneath the bed, where the book was spread open and several pictures had fallen out by accident.

"Ah, shoot, I didn't mean for that to happen," Stan groaned , "God I'm an idiot."

"Don't say that!" Ford hissed. He couldn't catch himself in time, accidentally snapping and nearly broken when Stan sent him a pale, wide-eyed stare, scared and confused.

"I'm sorry-"

"No," Ford sighed, "no, it's okay. I'm just frustrated with things, that's all. You did nothing wrong."

"Frustrated with me?"

"Of course not! Just...with things. Don't worry about it. There's no need to insult yourself over a book, that's all I meant."

Ford felt his heart ache. He knew this wasn't entirely true. None of this was Stan's fault (save for him being a bit immature and slipping as a result), he couldn't help himself. Ford was just so peeved that his brother had to suffer, and that he had to suffer as he watched it unfold., the same way, everytine. He'd have traded the world to have Stan's mind be preserved forever.

_God, I'm not being selfish, am I? I just want things to be okay. One day at a time..Stan will be fine. Relax._

"Sixer?"

_Wait-did he just call me..?_

"Stan?"

"I don't know..I don't know you. Not yet, I don't think, but that name, it's ringin' a bell? I think I used to call you that?"

"Yes!"

Ford couldn't keep his composure. He leapt at Stan and gave him an enormous hug.

"Whoa, easy on the squeezin'," Stan gasped for air.

"This is a good sign, Stanley. You're not out of the woods yet, but your memory is coming back! I'll show you the scrapbook again."

They'd looked through the pages on and off again. Tiny increments of memory were returning, such as some of Mabel's sweaters, or Wendy's slacking at the Mystery Shack.

It was still an awfully slow process, but things were getting slightly better. Until he noticed the message in the bottle.

"I'm sorry Stan, you can't read it."

Ford thought that Stan's impaired memory might make it okay, hell, _maybe_ it would even help bring back _more_ of his memory if he _did_ read it, but even under these circumstances, Ford did not want to remotely risk spoiling the surprise. He decided against it, knowing full well it was acquisitive of him to do so, but he could not knock the stubborn feeling away..

"You said it was from those kids in the scrapbook! If I love em and they love me, lemme see!" Stan insisted.

"Stan, I _can't._ "

Ford's heart was breaking all over again. He couldn't stand it, but on the other hand, he _could_. When Stan was well again, the look on his face would surely be worth it. He wouldn't risk it, especially if, by chance, Stan suddenly came to and read it coherently.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm hiding this some place where you won't find it, Stan. I'm sorry, but you'll understand eventually."

Stan was _pissed_. He had tears forming in his eyes, he just didn't get it. He tried to steal it from Ford's grasp, but failed miserably as his brother's grip was strong and unforgiving.

"How will I get better if you don't lemme see it...please," Stan was fully crying now, and it hurt, **God** did it hurt to watch, but it would do no good. Ford felt horrendously selfish causing his brother pain, but he was set on his plan.

"Everything's fine, Stan. You're okay. You're just confused. Your memory will come back, just give it time."

Quickly Ford ran to the kitchen and hid the bottle in a small compartment chamber he'd constructed behind the stove, some months earlier. Stan wouldn't be able to open it without the key.

_I really hope this is worth it. Otherwise, I'm one of the worst brothers in the world._

Stan was on the floor, dazed and inconsolable. It was often expected of him to pitch a sort of fit when he couldn't recognize even his closest friend, but this one seemed rather intense. He didn't know much about anything, except that this man was his brother and those two kids, the Wendy girl, and what was his name? Soos..? were important to him. Stan was horrendously frustrated.

He punched at the floorboards and hardly felt the wood that splintered into his palms.

Ford was hugging him again, this time, gently, and reassuring him. The embrace did not calm him, and he tried to claw away, to _escape_ , to Run―

"You're improving. I know it's scary. We've done it many times though. We'll look at the scrapbook again, we'll be okay. I'm not trying to hurt you." Ford insisted.

"I just don't...I don't get it.." Stan heaved into his brother's chest, "..I'm trying," He tried to push away, harder, until his nails dug into Ford's shoulders, "Lemme go, I have to get outta here!"

"Stanley..."

Stan was too tired to keep fighting. He slumped over. His head was burrowed into the crook of Ford's neck, and his fingers lost tension, loosening as his body gave up the battle. His arms swung toward the floor.

Gentle sobs escaped his throat, but they weren't as deep as they had been; Stan's leftover tears stained Ford's sweater. A patch of the fabric was now maroon rather than a soft crimson. But after a few moments, the old man relaxed entirely. His heart was racing from the attack, and he idly clenched his chest in hopes it would slow. He was able to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Show me the scrapbook." Stan furiously rubbed at his eyes.

"So soon? Maybe we should wait a few more moments before―"

"Sixer, right? That's your name..or a nickname? We need to read more, maybe it's really true. I just need the scrapbook again."

"Yes, of course. You see, I told you, everything will be fine." Ford patted Stan's back, helping him to his feet.

"We'll take it easy for a while. You just let me know when anything else familiar comes to mind," They went to their sleeping area, Stan plopping in the comfort of the old mattress and desperately yanking the book from the night table, eager to read more. He felt a twinge of hope in the hallow of his heart. Ford climbed beside him, and they started over again, reading through it, just as they had done many times before.

Ford was willing to lose all of the sleep in the world to help his brother. He'd do anything for Stan, and he was going to do anything now.  
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A/N: I'm back! Uh, I hope I ended this chapter on a decent note but it feels a little rushed? I tried realllyy hard so lemme know what you guys think! I'm excited to write more of this! Next chapter should come next Wednesday, if I stay on task, so stay tuned for that. :)


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